Death of the Fair Ones
by anerol152
Summary: The untold story of the life of Edgar Cloggs, a ghost that is so unknown, he isn't even on the list of characters.


**Chaser 2 of Pride of Portree;**

 **Prompt:** Edgar Cloggs (Ghost)

 **Optional Prompts:** (dialogue) "I'm still here.";(word) eager; (word) tree

 **Disclaimer : Who owns nothing? Me.**

 **Word count : happened**

 **A/N : The life of a ghost. That is so unknown that I will be surprised if I find him in the list of characters.**

* * *

Edgar entered the castle he hadn't seen in years, ready for his first day at his second-choice job. Although he hadn't managed to join a professional Quidditch team, he wasn't ready to give up on the sport just yet. Being the Hogwarts Quidditch professor seemed like it was going to be a challenge; he had never taught the sport before. But he was excited to get the chance to shape the next generation of sportspeople. Looking through each corridor he passed, Edgar couldn't help but remember his own school days.

 _He was wandering through the dungeons on his way to the Hufflepuff common room. He let his hand trace along the walls, feeling the textures beneath his fingers change as they moved from the wall to a painting and then back to the wall again._

 _It was like this that his hand ran across a painting of a fruit bowl and a pear let out a delighted squeal. He stopped in surprise, only to find that an entryway had opened!_

 _For a moment, he debated whether or not he should enter it, but in the end, he decided that it was worth looking into. After all, if it was in Hogwarts then it couldn't be anything that could cause him harm._

 _He took a step forward and entered a wide room full of… house-elves! It took him a brief couple of seconds to realise that he was standing in the kitchens._

He was looking forward to seeing the house-elves again. During his time at Hogwarts, he had visited them many times. They had even become rather… motherly towards him.

Despite this job being his second choice, he was sure he was going to enjoy it.

* * *

Edgar was looking forward to refereeing this match. It was the last one of the year, Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. For months, students had been placing bets on who would make it to the final, and they were keeping up tradition by exchanging their money in the hopes that the team they were supporting would win. He had avoided all mentions of it, not wanting to risk having his impartiality compromised.

He stopped his musing as the teams flew out of their changing rooms. He told them the usual rules about having a clean game, making sure they were listening closely. Both teams knew that he prided himself on being unbiased and were well aware of his almost uncanny ability to catch them if they fouled one another. They were sure to listen to him, for they knew that if there was a foul committed, Edgar would almost certainly penalise them.

Then the balls were released and the match started.

Cheers erupted from the stands every few minutes. Chasers flew neck and neck, trying to steal the Quaffle from their opposition. The crowd gasped and screamed as the Beaters batted Bludger after Bludger away from the Chasers, each one seemingly closer to hitting them than the last.

It was around half time that Edgar found himself occupied by a dispute between the Ravenclaw Chaser and the Slytherin Beater.

It took a few minutes for the argument to get sorted out and Edgar watched with a smile as the players flew back to their positions.

He then heard screams, and turning around, he found himself face to face with a Bludger.

He barely had time to widen his eyes before everything went black.

* * *

When his eyes opened again, it didn't feel like any time had passed. He was lying on the ground of the Quidditch pitch, staring up at the empty sky. All of the players were gone—someone must have called for a timeout while they attended to him.

But something wasn't right. No one was rushing around to heal him, and he couldn't even feel the grass beneath his back.

It didn't take long for him to put the pieces together.

* * *

"I saw Mr Potter falling off of his broom," said Edgar to Cedric Diggory after the recent Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor game.

Cedric seemed to squirm under the ghost's gaze. "He only fell off because of the Dementors," said the young boy with a frown.

"Do you think that was fair?" asked Edgar, not even flinching when the wind blew through him. When he had first returned as a ghost, it had felt most uncomfortable. Thankfully, he had gotten used to it after all of these years.

Cedric shook his head and Edgar couldn't help but smile at the boy. He had a very strong moral compass and Edgar knew that Cedric would both accept and agree with the advice he was about to give.

"What do you think I should do?" asked Cedric.

"You could ask for a rematch," suggested Edgar. "It has happened before, you know."

Cedric grinned. "I could? Then I'll definitely do that! Thanks, Edgar, you give brilliant advice."

Edgar nodded his head as a goodbye. "You go on and ask Rolanda if you can have a rematch."

With that, Cedric ran off towards the current Quidditch instructor's office, turning around and waving just before he disappeared inside.

* * *

All of the ghosts were gathered in the Great Hall, discussing the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Some were quite happy with the outcome, while others were frustrated with Harry for once again stealing the spotlight. However, most were united in confusion about the entire 'Mr Potter and Mr Diggory teleporting and facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' issue.

"If you ask me, I think it's all just a story invented by Mr Potter to get more of the spotlight," said the Bloody Baron with a scowl. "As if he hasn't had enough of that already."

"My dear Baron, I have known Harry Potter since he first came to this school," Nearly-Headless Nick replied coldly, "and I assure you that he would never lie to get attention."

"Perhaps you're right, Sir Nicholas, but still, you must admit that it does sound rather unrealistic," Edgar replied. He didn't want to make a judgement on the matter until they had the facts, but it was quite hard to believe.

"Perhaps he was under some sort of enchantment, or had a head injury and wasn't seeing things clearly? In any case, I believe him," said Sir Nicholas. "Regardless, I was saddened to hear about Mr Diggory's unfortunate fate, which I feel is the more pressing issue."

Edgar looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" he asked with a hint of worry in his voice. "Has something happened to Cedric?"

The Baron peered at him. "You haven't heard? Mr Diggory was hit by the Killing Curse after he and Mr Potter teleported to Merlin-knows-where."

Edgar froze. Cedric was dead? Surely that couldn't be true. And then he felt something welling up within him. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. Sadness.

 _Why do I feel like this? I have met countless students and I'm almost certain most of them have died. Why is_ this _death upsetting me?_ He couldn't understand. What made Cedric's death any different to other students'?

Then it dawned on him. Cedric was the first one who had tried to form a friendship with him. Of course, a lot of students came to him for advice or an impartial practice referee, but Cedric was—had been—the first one to take an interest in Edgar himself. He hadn't just forgotten about him when he had received the advice he wanted.

Edgar felt a hint of panic growing inside him. He hadn't had to deal with these kinds of feelings for what felt like ages, and he wasn't sure how he could.

He left the group of ghosts, ignoring their questions about what was wrong, and made his way to the Quidditch pitch.

It was empty now. The students had been made to leave after the task had finished. Floating into the centre of the pitch, the maze now gone, Edgar closed his eyes. As the wind blew through him, he hoped desperately that Cedric's death had been a painless one. He was a child. He should not have been harmed.


End file.
